If no doctors all are sane

Got yourself eyeless how?
My wife, bless her body, she spoked
them eyes through, but what with?
Paring knife, middle finger, dick?
All the things, those things to think
about as your eyes, once had them,
roll up and down like our bed
that isn’t yours either? What have
you done to the woman I gifted
an ingrate band of metal where
her green finger once was pale,
pale as your throat I saw?
Have you killed her so she’ll dress
in dresses then, long ones of silk
that smell of perfume now,
in one month of acetone?
Can I be forgiven if she won’t atone
an intrusion of a snake,
the snake I found and took on home?